


Accomodations

by Radioluminescence



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, M/M, Mech Preg (Transformers), Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radioluminescence/pseuds/Radioluminescence
Summary: He'd known that it was Pharma's body he was taking through the spacebridge, though he hadn't accounted for the second spark that came with it.
Relationships: Pharma/Ratchet (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Accomodations

**Author's Note:**

> I...don’t know what this is. 
> 
> I put the implied rape tag because the only possible time of conception is on Luna-1. However, it’s not referenced in the story at all. There’s no evidence to say it was non-consensual, but I’m putting it up to be safe.
> 
> It definitely helps to have read Lost Light 22. Otherwise this may be...a bit of a clusterfuck.
> 
> No beta! (again) I'm so sorry.

Adaptus’ patience is sorely lacking with this whole world-saving operation.

Solomus, too concerned with the outside happenings to read his body language, is to his right, talking about the closed portal. His voice is loud in Adaptus’ new audials, which are so sensitive they pick up the whirring from the electrical lighting with no problems whatsoever. The world around him is torturous to get used to, made worse by this new, fragile body.

Pharma’s been oddly quiet during the whole affair. Still, he can feel the other conscience reaching out, trying to grasp its surroundings. The curious probing turns more of his diagnostics systems online, continuing to overwhelm him with useless information.

Of all bodies he was gifted, it had to be a medic’s. He should’ve known that behind its aristocratic features, it hides a malignant history that haunts it to this day. That, and the medical protocols have been online since his reactivation, inspecting every frame that walks by without fail. It’s exhausting, is what it is.

He turns back to the battle. Solomus’ observations are correct. They need an added push if they have any hope of holding their opponents off before the God Gun recharges. There’s no contingency plan for if something goes wrong, and it's frying his wires. Regardless, they’re trying to salvage the effort. The fleets are rerouted, the foreign threat about to be disposed of. 

This body’s spark flutters with excitement. Wisps of energy throb, threatening to burst out through the gaps in his armour. He tries to quiet it down--remind it that it’s excited about the wrong reasons--but it never listens to him. Why would it now?

He fluffs out his plates, trying to find a configuration that makes the sensation more bearable. He swears that he can hear Pharma coo, though that may just be the static from his audials again; they do sound similar. Solomus gives him a weird look but prattles on, ignorant to his discomfort.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to tune in, Adaptus gives himself a second to look at the feed of the prisoners. It’s a cheap distraction, for he can’t focus when his processor is in five places at once like this. The spark voices its encouragement, happy to look at something that’s unrelated to his grand plan.

It’s a large group, split into subsections that converse with each other anxiously. Looking at them now, it’s hard to believe they could speak his language. Their leader hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut, as Getaway had warned him, but he had nothing of merit to say. If it’s true that they’re going to prove an obstacle, it must be because of their brawn. 

The mere presence of them makes him anxious. It shouldn’t, not with the war waging on outside, or the threat of extinction hanging over them like a shroud. It must be his fear of uncertainty, a confound that he cannot predict. 

The energy within him tumbles at the sight of a red and white mech, whose visor flickers with uncertainty. It takes him a second to realize that Pharma is waking up again. When he stirs, tiny grains of noise fire up Adaptus’ neural network. It’s impossible to ignore. The burning sensation is ever prominent, growing in power.

The angle changes. It shows a collection of burly mechs, bunched up to an almost comedic effect. The camera pans, revealing him a teal flyer and a white mech with pointy finials. The white mech looks nervous. 

Familiar, though Adaptus is sure he’s never seen him before. Beside him, an orange and white mech, with a long chevron--

 _That’s Ratchet! That’s Ratchet!_ Pharma cries. He’s at the front now, desperate for control. No anger or want could ever compare to the force that propels him now.

Adaptus vents loudly. Pharma’s reaction awakens a second state, one where the edges of his vision blur and there’s a dream-like quality to the footage he’s seeing.

Who’s Ratchet?

_Ratchet. My Ratchet. My beloved Ratchet._

Who? What about this mech could make Pharma burn so bright? Adaptus fights to maintain control over the body. The wings flex, fingers curling in. Pharma is trying to dress in material fabric, coming back to the world of the living.

 _Chief Medical Officer. Deltaran. Delphi. Luna-1._

Images of the places flash in his mind. The mech is always there. In his arms, in the break room, on the other side of the glass, on an operating table.

Must be a friend.

His chest seizes, his knees beginning to buckle as energy zips through him.

_He’s the sire._

...

The sparkling. 

It was there, embedded in Pharma’s spark when he took the body. It remains a presence now, surging out at the sight of its sire, wanting nothing more than to be reunited. Once so faint he could ignore its existence, Pharma’s fierce protection over it has given it power. All it needed was confirmation from its carrier to unleash what’s laid dormant in the body this entire time. 

Solomus is trying to talk to him, but he can barely hear himself think over Pharma’s cries. His chest feels as though it’s about to explode. The heat builds until it becomes unbearable. Unaware that the problem is imagined, the frame initiates a cooldown sequence.

He briefly considers just extinguishing the spark now and being done with it, but the fascination keeps his impulse at bay. A body sparked with life; it’s impossible in his true form. The spectre is just another part of him, a limb that’s being assembled over time. 

Not to mention, Pharma is curled around it. He’s made their sparks synonymous with each other, using the last of his conscience to tie the signatures together. One prick, and Adaptus risks deactivation. 

He should have known it would not be easy to separate them.

But he had tried. Once. Before the body was truly his.

Pharma had begged.

_Don’t! It’s all I have left._

A first for him.

Pharma was but a ghost then. A ghost with carrier protocols initiated. And the spark was just a pinprick. Small. Fresh.

Even now, it's such a tiny thing. It’s simply a microcosm of a much bigger conflict, a product of a thickening desire that would not fade. Whatever poison was in the mind of Pharma when he died was blown out by the shot to the brain--he’d seen it leak out of his corpse, a black smudge of insecurity and malice that had burst out like an artesian well on impact--but the love remained.

Usually, it’s the brain module that contains those thoughts. But whoever the sire is, he was once held close to Pharma’s spark. So close, that the imprint he left behind would become the nest that the spark would grow inside of. It gorged itself on the rosy memories of the past, which were there to support its growth when the carrier physically could not.

It’s evidence of Adaptus’ brother, no doubt. In the creation and reproduction of sparks, a flicker of him remains. It brings back old and raw emotions. Things he’d pushed to the back of his conscience a long time ago.

And this...newspark, it challenges him now. With every bit the arrogance of its carrier, it demands to live. It demands to see its sire, to bring the two together once more.

Of course, the poor thing doesn’t know that its host is the great Adaptus itself. All it knows is Pharma. Pharma and sire. How they used to be in love. How many times Pharma had tried to bring it to fruition when he was younger, before frustration overcame him with the years that passed. Pharma was so desperate to be loved. He still is.

Thus, it’s Pharma’s voice that lunges out when the room goes quiet. A desperate warble that echoes inside of Adaptus’ mind.

“The prisoners. I need to see them. Now.”

He tries to mend the rift that’s giving Pharma the opportunity to break free, but it’s more complicated than he thought. Pharma, somehow, has bludgeoned his way out of his subconscious. The newspark, of course, is thrilled. It bounces and tumbles, igniting pathways Adaptus didn’t know existed. He feels woozy.

Adaptus wears the weight of Pharma’s grievances around his neck like it were a chain. They accompany him with each step he takes. He’s sharing ownership of these feet with Pharma, who walks with purpose.

Though the mechs beside him are foreign, the feeling is familiar. Their steps are synchronous with his, an army of loyal followers to make good on his promise for retribution. Pharma cares not for the symbolism, too preoccupied with the sire to do anything but urge him on.

Adaptus is...he’s bewildered at the strength of this mech’s conviction. In Pharma’s mind, this is more pressing than the fate of the universe.

Immediately upon entry, the captives recognize Pharma’s body: the mech with the visor calls out his name with fear, and the sire looks at his body with an expression that suggests he’s not happy to see the carrier of his newspark. The accusatory “you!” makes his leg thrusters want to engage.

Adaptus looks down and sees the sire’s hands are interlinked with the white mech’s. Said mech assumes a protective stance, a hand resting on a sword scabbard joined to his hip. The sire does not move, as though this configuration comes naturally to them both. They know each other. Well.

 _Get away from him!_

Pharma’s anger turns acidic, urging Adaptus to act to relieve the pain. The group of prisoners edge away, looking for a way out.

_Take him back! He’s mine!_

His spark throbs.

Adaptus raises his hand. “Stop them.”

His constituents obey. Fire rings out. Panic ensues. The captives move around, trying to save themselves. In the midst of the shouting and screaming, the white mech gets a hole torn through his chassis. The blast shakes the room. Energon spritzes out like a fountain.

He doesn’t know what the white mech did, but it’s...satisfying to see him get blasted. 

The sire cries out in alarm. His reaction makes the newspark tremble. Without thinking, Adaptus steadies a hand on his chassis, just above the cockpit. 

Before either of them can act, the second ship that they’d located on the radar blasts a hole through the holding cell’s glass. It’s there to evacuate the group, no doubt. Within seconds, the prisoners have been consumed by the void of space. 

Adaptus repossesses the body to initiate the vacuum seals, taking advantage of Pharma’s waning mental state to have complete control over the body. He’s only somewhat motivated by the desire to know. Why does Pharma care? What’s there to care about?

Though the seal only manages to prevent a small number of captives from escaping, the sire is one of them. Pharma is overcome with emotion, reaching out for him with one invisible hand. The other traces his spark. For the first time in a long time, there comes relief. It’s honeyed, immersing Adaptus in a flood of light colours and contagious laughter.

 _My beautiful, darling Ratchet. Come closer. Come see what I’ve made for you. Come see what_ he _can’t give you._

Adaptus bites down his glossa until energon wells up. He uses the pain to ground himself, so that he may lift himself out of that cavern before it gets too deep.

Absolutely not. As much as Pharma drives his curiosity, Adaptus keeps his safety in top priority. The sparkling is not important, in the grand scheme of things. Neither of them is special. He alone reigns here, in this body, in this world.

He targets the source of Pharma’s presence. His emotional outburst has revealed him, swirling near the spark’s corona, in the receptacle beside the casing. The edge of his field is tinged with melancholy. The centre is made unavailable to him.

Adaptus grabs the presence, and twists.

Pharma shrieks as he’s torn from his place. With precision, Adaptus undos the stitches that hold him to this body. He reduces Pharma to a speck, finding any rogue thought and terminating it before it can multiply. Each string that attaches him to the sparkling is plucked. 

The newspark pulses, searching for its carrier. When it receives no answer, it dims. 

_Introduce us._ Pharma says, as he’s pushed down under. _Tell him! Show him! Prove him wrong, after all these years! Bring him back to me._

The locks on his chest armour try to disengage, but Adaptus reverses the decision before the light from his spark can show.

The sire has come closer, holding his hands out as though to give comfort. Adaptus realizes he’s on the ground, one hand grabbing his helm. Though Pharma cannot answer the sire’s calls, the newspark emits a warm glow. It’s trying to make its presence known.

Adaptus doesn’t know if the sire senses the additional spark in his energy field, but he takes a step back just in case. It’s torture. Every movement in the opposite direction wounds him. Pharma, reduced to a voyeur, wails.

Adaptus resets his voice box, looks the sire in the eyes, and fights the impulse to collapse so that those hands will soothe the burning pain in his chest. Those desires are not his. They belong to a dead mech, who is just a fragment of what makes him whole now. Pharma has no claim over this body. Not anymore.

“I am not Pharma.”

_Please!_

Pharma continues to fight, but he’s lost so much ground. It’s hopeless.

Upon seeing his body shake, the sire tries to comfort him. “Easy, easy. Just tell us who you are. Who you really are.”

The skepticism bleeds through. He must still believe Pharma is there. 

Adaptus shakes his head, fanning his wings out. He’s wrong.

“...In the beginning, I was Adaptus.”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know how to continue the story; whatever end comes to Pharma is up to you! I do consider this somewhat canon divergent, so maybe he pulls through post-Solomus fight?
> 
> come talk to me on my [tumblr](https://amaltheeia.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
